Snow... lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.

The Dead, Dubliners, James Joyce


Yes, paralysis of the heart

Involves a continuing lack of empathy

For anybody outside

Our small circle of lived experience. 

Epiphanies - sudden, striking realizations

Where we see into the heart of things -

As in the manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles

Commemorated on the feast of the epiphany. 

Epiphany can free us from paralysis:

All we need to do is to forget all that we expect of life,

Undo any falseness in ourselves,

Any hypocisy or cowardice;

Look upon the world with smiling eyes.

Time wrecks everything except for this faith in the importance of the moment

Marriages crumble

Families disperse

All epics and rhapsodies

Can flee from our lives

Leaving us amidst the mute greyness of despair

If we lack faith in what is not there.

The hour of our birth

The hour of our death

Should not be barriers but portals

From which we see into the life of things:

Icicles, stalagmites and stalactites,

Preserve us from the contagion of greed

The stupidity of selfishness.

Let us be the bog poets

Exploring the depths, excavating, 

The wilderness of our hearts

And imaginations

Reaching out to those

Who came before or after

Learn to avoid the detritus of Homo Sapiens - 

The killer species.



◄ In the sixties

The Unwritten ►


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Sat 2nd Nov 2019 12:57

Bog poets. I dig that. 😉 John, your poetry is among the best I have ever read. What a privilege to experience your art. Write on my friend.

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Jon Stainsby

Sat 2nd Nov 2019 09:29


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Kate G

Fri 1st Nov 2019 22:44

Magnificent John. 😊

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